


Dream On

by palomino333



Series: Pandora-verse [15]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Married Life, Mild Gore, Old Age, Old Married Couple, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Regret, Star Trek: Generations, Unhealthy Relationships, War, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 00:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14508066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: A few months after James T. Kirk's funeral, Spock and McCoy are visited by an uninvited guest from the past.





	Dream On

Today was an off day.

Funny that, really, as it felt less that it mattered. Days off once meant not feeling dead tired while keeping patients from overwhelming the med bay. Days off once meant roaming the streets with Jim and hopping a couple of bars. Days off once meant sleeping late, while draped over the Vulcan, utterly aching from however many rounds they went last night.

Well, McCoy thought, as he slid out of Spock's grip, and tugged on a robe, some things didn't change. The Vulcan was half-turned over, his hair mussed. The doctor groaned at how sore he felt, though content that he wasn't limping. Pon farr had been an utterly different story, in that regard. However, he would gladly take it, having felt sore in vision and mind from staring at computer screens in a laboratory for weeks. It would be nice to take a break from it all and stay away from San Francisco's bay for a day to enjoy Georgia's rolling fields.

Fitting how, even on his off day, he had to return to work. Dr. Barrows, her red hair lanced with gray, smiled in appeasement from his viewscreen. "Starfleet wants the pathogen report today, Len. We'll have to pack it in this morning."

He groaned in annoyance from the screen and glanced back over his shoulder, and down the hall to his bedroom, where Spock lay in meditation. "Don't they have something better to do than to harass a couple of old fossils like ourselves?" He was being facetious. While exhausted from a long couple of weeks of work, it would have been worth it. The Federation was continuing to expand into the Beta Quadrant, and expansion brought new diseases to be discovered. Most recently was a plague that petrified limbs, effectively dehydrating the sufferer to death. McCoy's team had perfected a vaccination for it only recently, earning them a day of rest. The report containing the team's logs throughout the research process, had not, at the time, been immediately needed, the vaccination itself proving more important.

Tonia Barrows, after disembarking from the Enterprise several years ago to pursue the field of biological science, had become a researcher for Starfleet into the field. She'd been rather surprised to see an old flame of hers being assigned to her team. McCoy had smirked at her, and remarked, "Sorry, I'm a married man."

The tension defused with his humor, the two found it easy to work together as acquaintances, with Tonia inquiring as to the less official events that had transpired on the Enterprise since her departure. She'd avoided badgering him for details about his relationship with Spock, her own fling with McCoy not extending past that shore leave they'd had together. Seeing him, disheveled, exhausted, and nearly stumbling from the Galileo's ill-fated mission to Markus III, Barrows had been concerned. That was when Spock reached out a hand to steady him, and the doctor had looked ready to draw his arm back from him. However, when McCoy swung his head about to lock his gaze with Spock, a pregnant pause passing between them, Tonia smiled, and attended back to her duties. He would be taken care of. It came as no surprise to her when, a few days later, her crewmates were whispering about the ship's CMO beginning an affair with the science officer. Barrows had tossed a chess piece at a crewmate, who was speculating as to how quickly Spock would shatter McCoy's pelvis. She had his honor to defend, after all, she'd reminded herself with a grin.

Barrows hadn't felt it appropriate, given her short time under Kirk's command, to be present at his funeral. However, a bouquet of lilies, bearing her name and words of sympathy, had been displayed, among many other floral offerings, around the empty casket.

She snorted at that. "Well, maybe you are."

"Takes one to know one, Tonia," he replied, running a hand through his hair, "Fine, I'll be there. You hold me up, and it's your ass."

"Loud and clear. I don't want to be there any longer than we have to be." Tonia rolled her eyes. "The things we do when we're promoted. Go explore the galaxy, then get stuck behind the desk. See you at 0900 hours." She cut the link, and he sighed, rising from the desk to move back to the bedroom. McCoy mumbled under his breath, and mentally calculated the closest transporter station to his residence, as well as the least amount of transporter hops that would bring him to California.

Spock opened his eyes to stare up at him from their bed. and Leonard rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't need to say specifically what needed to be done, as the Vulcan knew his gesture well. Spock shook his head at his mate's embarrassment and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "It is all right. Your work needs done. We have the remainder of the day."

"Think you can entertain yourself without me?" McCoy inquired sardonically.

Spock gave a slight smirk and rose. "I will manage."

Starfleet Headquarters rose high above them, its medical building's caduceus standing proudly in the sun. McCoy, much to his own annoyance, was clad in his uniform, while Spock wore his civilian robe. The Vulcan looked out of place, more so now than before, as he had retired from active duty to take on an ambassadorial role. McCoy, for the moment, was focused upon medical research, as well as continuing to educate new medical personnel. He found he preferred the former, as it continued to offer new fields of exploration. The latter, however, was still rewarding, once he drew himself back from his impatience with groups of practical children straight from the academy.

It was something he should be grateful for, Leonard knew, with both Spock and him off the front lines. He wouldn't again watch Spock die in agony before him, for one thing. Still, this life had stifled Jim, and he understood why. Studies in medical science brought him his own sense of interest, hearkening back to his rather blind time as a medical student, burying himself in his books to dream of the good he could do for mankind. For Kirk, that hadn't been enough.

A fitting death, then, but neither he nor Spock had been there, he thought as he ascended the lobby stairs. The guilt continued to weigh upon him. Spock's hand ran up the banister beside him, and his eyes were drawn to the movement. On some subjects, he and his husband parted ways. He knew that Spock wasn't cold toward Kirk's death, far from it, in fact, but the point of contention he usually had with Leonard on this was blaming himself for not being there the Nexus had taken Kirk.

McCoy taken Spock home that night, after the funeral. He hadn't really seen much of Spock in the year since the Enterprise's decommissioning. McCoy had cried at the funeral, but at home, he had felt numbness begin to set in, and that scared him, more than much else. He felt detachment, as if he was floating above his body. It was the same numbness that had set in when Jocelyn left, and when his father had been laid to rest. He knew what was wrong with him, that his mind was submitting itself to the loss. He didn't want to withdraw into a shell, and run from his best friend's death, as well.

He could feel his husband's long fingers that night, touching, feeling, holding him. Spock gently coaxed him, through his touches, to feel again. Tears again ran down the doctor's face. Bringing his arms about, he clung to Spock as the Vulcan kissed his tear-stained cheeks, and comfortingly stroked his skin.

There were still times where he came close to slipping into that numbness again, and Spock would tug him backward from it. He had felt humiliated by it, at first, until Spock reassured him, "I will care for you, Ashayam, as you have for me." Still, it nagged at him that he should have been past this.

Spock had mentioned to him that he was going to be heading to the library for research regarding his latest assignment. McCoy wondered if he was even bothering to lie, considering how he could easily take a PADD with him to study. He appreciated the sentiment, however. Spock was beginning to cling to him, in his own way, and he did welcome it, for now.

His office was several floors up. Spock wasn't going to follow him, as there would be little point in his return. The library's atrium held a few reading desks, as well as a few chairs. Adjoining it were several smaller rooms, one of which branched off toward the lifts. Spock would see him off there. He rubbed his hands together, deciding that they had at least the second half of the day.

Bright light burst into being, materializing into a man's body. Spock paused at the sight of it, while McCoy continued by, being used to the beaming in and out of Starfleet personnel. Spock seized his arm, however, yanking him backward, his teeth clicking together. Swinging his head about, he demanded, "What's gotten into you?"

Spock pointed to the figure, and McCoy turned about. His breath caught in his throat as a pair of dark eyes stared back at him. "Doctor," Spock, or rather, his counterpart, greeted, standing among a pair of chairs. He was immaculately dressed and stood straight. A strange, cylindrical device was held in one hand, while at his belt was a phaser pistol. He continued to wear that pressed blue uniform.

Focusing his vision, McCoy saw the graying of hair upon his head, and gray flecks in his beard. Wrinkles drew upon his face, and one ear, as he turned slightly to put the device away at his belt, appeared torn. His voice sounded weary. "What are you doing here?" McCoy growled.

Straightening up, Spock's counterpart did not answer him. "So, this is how I appear, in this universe. Fascinating."

"In a sense," Spock replied, letting go of McCoy and moving to stand beside him, their shoulders brushing. McCoy had to hold in a snort at a protective thought from Spock that advised him to leave. "Our reality has not imploded upon itself," Spock commented, "That is comforting."

His counterpart nodded. "I took that into consideration before arriving here."

"Logical," Spock replied, dismissing his curiosity with the newcomer. He had seen a shade of him within McCoy's mind, after the mental rape several years ago, and for the moment, he was more inclined toward protecting his mate.

Spock's mirror image gave a slight shrug. He refrained from answering, knowing that his presence was irritating the doctor. He found some satisfaction in that. His double, however, proved a variable to him. He could see it in his posing. Despite his wearing a robe, he could tell how stiffly Spock was standing, his expression utterly hard. He was becoming too human, and he took that as an indicator that McCoy had bonded with Spock.

Funny, he wondered how Spock could have done something so utterly illogical. McCoy was ultimately a liability, given how he was a bleeding heart. He'd been so easy to throw around in the I.S.S. Enterprise's sick bay. It was surprising that he still wore a Starfleet uniform, a rather garish-looking one at that. McCoy's fist clenched at his side. A spark of anger shot through his eyes. Yes, he did remember, after all these years. This McCoy appeared more delicate, given his old age and thinness.

An arm moved before McCoy, and the doctor was partially blocked from his view by his own self, or rather, a similar self. Spock was stern in his demeanor, and sharp in his wording. "How have you come here?"

The silver cylinder was up to the light. "This is a multi-dimensional transporter, designed by the engineer Scott of my universe." He placed it back at his belt, and lifted his sash to cover its bulk.

"Interesting," Spock commented. For as much as he wished to grasp it, however, he knew that it would constitute letting down his guard. The object had been hidden away too quickly for him to take better note of it, but he had managed to grasp a few details. McCoy could not supply a strong contrary view of it, as his attention was more focused upon the figure itself, as was his own, and the device had been shown and hidden too quickly. Spock made a mental note to contact Scott about this breakthrough soon. "What have you come for?"

They both were aged, but more softly, it seemed, in the view of Spock's double. It was to be expected. This universe was so much easier to live in. McCoy had become unattractive. His youth had faded, his hair gray, and his face wrinkled. He also appeared to be less fiery. Despite his defensiveness, he held himself too easy. He was slowing down, contented with his long life, and relaxing.

Still, despite this, however, he could not help but covet him. Leonard was alive, in a way. He'd been a jewel, when he'd first accidentally appeared in his universe, all those years ago. Then again, so had the others on the landing party, but Spock had been drawn most to him, due to the resemblance to his own lover. McCoy had been innocent, and so utterly good-willed. He had so delicately trembled in his grip, in the I.S.S. Enterprise's sickbay, and his memories, as well as the emotions involved with them, had displayed a deeply hurting and fragile man. It would have made him, in time, easy to manipulate.

He could not mistake Spock's protectiveness, and gentle handling. He was joined to the doctor. He could see it in the flash of emotion through Spock's eyes, and his movements. He found that to be interesting. Perhaps McCoy had proved himself to be useful, after all. He could not help but wonder, with a touch of smugness, as to whether that been because of him. A forced meld would most likely have left a scar upon the doctor. His relationship with Spock had been rather quaint, from what he had viewed of his memories. It was high in playfulness but lacking in gravitas. They were children, and, frankly, they still were, in their own little world.

His own Leonard, blood running down his face from the strikes he had taken to protect him, placed a phaser to the side of his head. Spock had been on his knees, his uniform shredded after an assault gone wrong, the result of one of Kirk's many bad decisions. Against a blood red sky, the doctor looked utterly mad. "Worthless," he hissed, whipping him with the side of the pistol. Spock tipped sideways, catching himself on his arm, and McCoy spat on him. Spock gasped, dizzy from the pain. Angered at his comrade's weakness, McCoy kicked him in the teeth, sending him sprawling on the dirt. Spock brought the back of his hand to the corner of his mouth and wiped at the blood that seeped out of it. "Every scar I've taken for you is a favor you owe me. Refuse, and I will kill you. Understand?" Spock coughed and nodded. McCoy knelt, and grabbed him by his collar, yanking him up. "Use your words, you piece of half-bred shit!" With the phaser pointed at his throat, Spock found he couldn't much argue. Leonard had never been gentle with him. Protective and stubborn, yes, but not tender. Not soft. Not kind.

McCoy found it difficult to relax, despite the reassurances that Spock was murmuring to them, through their bond. He had not taken a phaser with him due to a lack of need. Spock knew what this man had been capable of, having seen it in Leonard's mind, but this was different. His double seemed older now, and with a sense of exhaustion to him.

"Is Captain Kirk with you? I must speak with him," Spock's double began.

A shadow of grief passed over McCoy's face. Pity that, he was so easy to read.

"I am afraid that is not possible," Spock replied.

He tilted his head. "Is he away on business?"

"He's dead," McCoy replied bluntly.

He paused, as if he had not heard correctly. "I am sorry?"

McCoy outright glared at him. "You heard me correctly. He died in the line of duty, defending the Enterprise. If you want to leave a message for him, cast it at the stars."

His shoulders lowered at that. "That is unfortunate."

Spock's tone was curious. "For what purpose do you seek him?"

"It was due to his advice that I began the revolution in my universe." He turned his gaze to McCoy, who had released a breath at that revelation, grasping his attention. "The revolution, doctor, has faltered. At first, we did have our successes, and I did bring forth reforms to offer liberties that your people take for granted to my own. My mate was quite instrumental in assisting me."

McCoy was skeptical. "Did he throw a race away for it? Or did he torture any dissenters into submission?"

"He took whatever means was necessary, which I suppose is one of precious few things you held in common with him," he replied, "Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation."

The remark stung the doctor. In his mind's eye, that alternate sick bay appeared before him. He could feel his stomach squirming at the revelations of his alternate self's experiments and vivisections upon living prisoners. He could also feel hands raking callously over his body, probing coldly at places that he had only intended for his lover to see, feel, and taste.

Spock's double drew his body up and gave a slight protrusion of his chest. McCoy was disgusted by it, knowing that he saw him as just another conquest. He was also trying to show up his primary counterpart. McCoy, however, refused to take either an aggressive stance against him, and rise to his bait, or a defensive stance by leaning against Spock. This was not going to be about him. He would not give him that satisfaction. Rather, he grasped onto his usage of tense.

"What happened to me, there?" McCoy inquired.

"He was not you. He will never be you," the intruder responded flatly, "He died of xenopolycythemia poisoning." McCoy started at that and breathed hard. Spock's hand tightened upon McCoy's arm. Had it been up to his counterpart, that hand would have been upon his thigh. He was easy to get a rise out of, even now.

Spock opted to change the subject. "It would seem that we have both incurred losses."

"Indeed, some more so than others," his double replied, continuing to push the point.

McCoy, annoyed, interrupted their argument. "Enough. Lives were lost, that's what matters. Quit trying to pile up bodies, and count who's wealthier."

Spock turned his head at that, and his counterpart replied, "As to wealth, then, doctor, look at what you have, here."

"You don't know what we had to give for it. You can't judge us," McCoy replied evenly.

"You judge me. You both are judging me, at this moment," he pointed out.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. When was the last time either of us assaulted you, in the past?" He exchanged a glance with his husband before continuing, "Even conceding the point that you were merely acting on what would be considered legal in your universe, you still harmed someone who was not of your universe, and not bound by your laws."

Spock's counterpart noted that Leonard was speaking of himself in the third person and wondered if he was using his clinical tone to disguise any emotional pain from his ordeal. He was interested to know what exactly McCoy was feeling, especially toward him, but only his mate would know, and Spock was not giving anything away. Most likely that was out of respect and care for the doctor. Really, Spock had more in common with a piece of cardboard, than much else.

Then Spock opened his mouth. "You have arrived, unannounced, to a universe which you are not from. It was mere happenstance that brought our convergence. We have not meant to venture into your universe, afterward. You have not, to my knowledge, sent Captain Kirk a communication, over decades of silence."

"It was not for lack of trying," he replied evenly, "Our technological endeavors had only reached so far, and war has depleted our resources. Times have become rather difficult since we had last met, Dr. McCoy."

McCoy's eyes narrowed as he was addressed. His mate, however, continued undeterred. "You focused upon going to this universe, why?" Spock asked, "Were we that much of a curiosity to you?" McCoy flexed his fingers at that, and Spock relaxed his hand, allowing him free movement.

"It was your philosophy that I had found to be worthwhile," he answered, "The Terran Empire was spiraling culturally and economically downward. Violence was commonplace, as was destruction. There needed to be an end. Surak's philosophy had been attempted, more than once, but it had been outlawed. Any uses of it were ultimately futile. Your Captain Kirk's philosophy had been unheard of, and was, therefore, an unknown element."

"It does not seem logical for you to listen," Spock pointed out, "He was not of your universe. He did not know how it had functioned."

He was silent, and Spock understood that his double was ashamed. "I did not have a choice. We were teetering on a brink."

"It seems that your situation remains precarious," Spock noted.

"Hence, the reason for my attempted contact," he replied, "Now, however, my requested party is not here. May I inquire as to how he had died?"

"No, you may not," McCoy replied coldly.

"I see." He folded his hands behind his back. "But you must understand that I cannot leave here empty-handed. We require assistance, if there is ever to be any peace in my universe."

At his words, Spock once again positioned himself before McCoy. "You will not be taking either of us."

"But I do require a diplomat," his counterpart pushed.

McCoy's hand tightened upon Spock's wrist as he caught a very slight twitch of the intruder's thumb. Spock acknowledged his warning by inquiring, "What do you wish to accomplish by threatening us with a weapon? You are within Starfleet headquarters."

He laid his hand flat against his side. "You have not called for me to be imprisoned."

"It is better to reason with you," Spock replied, "If either of us attacks you, you could warp back to your reality."

"I cannot leave," he reiterated.

"That's a lie," McCoy replied, "You can come and go whenever you please."

"I cannot leave without assistance for my universe," he explained.

"Nothing is stopping you from returning," McCoy replied evenly, "If it's dangerous there as you say, I can't, in good faith, advocate for someone from our universe to go there."

"Doctor, how dare you make that judgment. You are turning away from the wounded."

McCoy was half-compelled to smirk, understanding the absurdity of the situation. Spock's double was grasping at straws, and in an area completely not of his own. He shook his head. "We have wounded of our own. We've just come out of our own hardship." He decided against giving away anything about the treaty brokered with the Klingons, lest that influence the mirror universe further.

Spock's double held out his arms. "You say you have wounded of your own, and you have come through a hardship, yet I see undamaged walls. I see no wounded."

"You aren't in a hospital," McCoy replied evenly, "Of course you won't see them." Something dark flickered through the intruder's eyes, and Spock folded his hands as he caught it. McCoy felt his realization through their bond, and his stomach clenched. Likely, bodies lined destroyed walls and buildings in the mirror universe. Also likely, it didn't matter what building they were in. Sweat ran down the back of his neck as he slowly took in the flecks of dust that he hadn't noticed before on that blue uniform, as well as its rumples. Darker flecks slowly stood out, and he realized that they had to be from blood. "My God…" He whispered.

The intruder's throat moved, and he lowered his arms, realizing that his weak point had been exposed. "I cannot return," he continued.

"We cannot force anyone from this universe to go there," Spock replied firmly, "We have been through our own wars. Our people here have made their own sacrifices. You have given nothing."

"Neither have you," he replied, "It would be better if we had never crossed paths, or," he turned his head to look at McCoy, "if your captain would not have said a word to me."

"Don't pin this all on Jim!" McCoy snapped, pointing at him, "You took his advice without thinking about the consequences of it!"

"Jim," he repeated, and shook his head, "You call him Jim?" He ran his hand over the back of the chair beside him, "It is so intimate. You felt that safe, with him?"

"We trusted our captain with our lives," McCoy replied, "As I recall, it would have been dangerous for you to do the same."

"You are correct, doctor. I do not think I could ever understand it. It seems to invite you to anguish."

McCoy started forward, only to be tugged back by Spock grasping his hands. "What was I then to you, a trophy?" McCoy hissed in anger, straining against Spock.

"In truth, yes," he replied, unable to articulate his point further. How could he describe exactly what McCoy would have become to him, then? A possession, yes, but something else, entirely. He couldn't talk to his mate, not really. His version of Leonard had been intelligent, but also cruel, just as he himself had been.

With this man, however, he could talk to him, and receive care from him. He was weak, but also kind. He would heal him, while the Leonard he knew would stomp on him. It would have been a nice, this glimmer of light. But it wouldn't happen. McCoy wouldn't go. He wouldn't have gone before, anyway, but then it wouldn't have been a problem. He merely would have had to bind him, hand and foot, and, perhaps, if he still had struggled to get loose, blindfold and gag him. Then, only patience would have been needed before McCoy's resolve would have run out. The visual that presented was aesthetically pleasing.

And why hadn't he? He'd given him back to the engineer and allowed him to leave. It was mostly out of anger, at McCoy seeing him as he was, mentally, during the forced mind meld, and drawing back from him. He'd dropped his guard for a moment, and this man, insignificant in his universe, had saw it fit to judge him. Outraged, he had lashed out at him. Still, considering how he had been the leader of a revolution, McCoy would have been a liability, ultimately. His own version of Leonard had shaken his head. "I would've given him a week before breaking. He would've made a very nice pet."

McCoy's teeth gnashed at that, however Spock's quiet words pervaded him. "Then you do not understand the doctor at all."

"I have only encountered him once," His double replied.

McCoy, realizing what angle his husband was taking, straightened up, and released his jaw. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I need assistance."

"I heard you. I'm asking, however, what are you doing here? You barely know this universe."

His eyes darted back and forth. "This change in my universe was caused by yours. You cannot reject a plea for help."

McCoy sighed, and felt Spock releasing his hands. "What you're asking can't be done. Our resources are being diverted to assisting colonies and other affected worlds within our universe. Even if Spock or I gave the okay, it wouldn't get past Starfleet brass."

"But perhaps Kirk—"

"I told you, he's dead. That possibility no longer exists." Spock's counterpart stood stalk still before them as McCoy's words at last sank in. He continued, "If it is as bad as you say in your universe, why are you still here? Why aren't you leading?"

How could he explain it now? Here Leonard was, living, breathing, and safe. It was nice to see him. It was nice to see a better world. It was a pity, but it was nothing new. He had been a fool. However, he betrayed nothing. "I see. My apologies for disturbing you. I will not trouble you again." He bowed, and activated the device, transporting himself back to his own universe.

XXXXXX

The hangar bay clattered and clanged noisily, the lights perpetually dimmed, and broken equipment hauled about by exhausted workers, all bearing cuts, scars, and abrasions. Welders' torches flared, while tools whirred. Sparks flew as Spock walked past the work.

He didn't want to think of it, any of it. He didn't want to think of that softer version of Leonard dropping his clothing to the floor, and his Spock running his lips over his skin. He didn't want to think of Leonard lying in Spock's bed, safe in his arms. He also certainly didn't want to think of Leonard coughing from an illness, and Spock bringing him a cup of tea, whilst patiently reminding him that he needed to rest.

It was all nice, but it was not real, within his universe. Much work needed to be done, and he needed to do it alone. He'd been foolish to pin his hopes upon Kirk. The captain had been childish, naïve, and immature, thinking that his mentality could change anything for the better. He hadn't had the foresight to think that it wouldn't work in this universe. And Spock had been foolish enough to listen to him, when he should have known better. He had seen years of Terran politics and had served under the Terran military's harshness. He should have known it would not have worked. And yet, there had been hope presented by this other Kirk. There was a world where his mate was safe, and where he was content. There was a world where gentleness was not looked upon with scorn but favored. It was a beautiful dream.

Saavik and Dr. Chapel greeted him with crisp salutes, Saavik's metal arm gleaming in the light, and Chapel's mechanical heart humming. Joanna, her hair pulled tightly back in a bun, and her right eye sporting a patch, nodded dutifully at him as he descended the stairs. "Stepfather."

Scott, grizzled, and his face bearing multiple scars, rose from his station. Uhura, with Moreau at her shoulder, shambled over, exhaustion showing upon her face from a limp that caused her to drag her right leg. Moreau's expression was stern, a bandana wrapped around her head to cover the scars from a botched scalping. "Did it work?" Scott demanded.

Spock held up the device to the light. "Its function was fulfilled."

Silence passed, and Uhura inquired, "The endeavor?"

Spock lowered the device, and replied, "Captain Kirk is dead." The figures stirred slightly but said nothing. Pacing to stand before all of them, he continued, "I have requested assistance from Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy of the alternate universe to assist us. That also has been denied." Joanna's eye shut, and she nodded her head, as if expecting this. "We remain alone in our resistance." He held up the device. "I offer this to each of you. This device may only carry up to two bodies at a time. If any of you wishes to leave, speak up now."

The room was silent. If anyone chose to speak, likely he or she would be fallen upon for the coveted device. Spock lowered it to his side. "Very well, then. We will continue in our work as usual. Dismissed." The band of people dispersed, save Joanna, who stood before him.

As Spock walked passed her, she inquired, "How was Father, in the other universe?"

He did not bother to glance over his shoulder at her. "He is not your father. Do not call him such." Spock walked away, leaving Joanna with her disappointment.

XXXXXX

It was surreal, McCoy thought, how his office remained the same after the chance encounter with Spock's double. Sitting at his desk and gathering the required files he had been intending to take to Tonia, he would have questioned whether he was dreaming, save for Spock's hands being on his shoulders. McCoy had locked the office door after crossing the threshold, with about fifteen minutes remaining until he had to head to the lab.

Spock's thumbs rubbed reassuringly over his shoulders. McCoy sighed heavily. Arching his back and shoulders, he groaned. Spock could feel his husband's disturbance at his mirror counterpart's reappearance. There was an old pain there, that they had worked together on for years, but had not abated. Now it had been renewed. His fear, however, had mainly been for Spock, in that he was worried about his counterpart harming him.

Sinking his thumbs into the fabric, and drawing over them, Spock hummed quietly, calling an old Vulcan tune forth. "You can stop that tomorrow," Leonard mumbled in contentment, though a tap of his fingers on the desk indicated that he was still not balanced.

Spock leaned his head down and kissed his mate behind the ear. He whispered, "If you want me to, I shall."

"Literal-minded," McCoy replied with a smirk, turning his head slightly to kiss him. Leaning backward on the chair, he released his fingers, the gathered files falling upon the desk in a heap. He should get up. He wanted to enjoy his time with Spock this afternoon, maybe take him to the beach, or that vegetarian place Sulu had recommended to him. He didn't want to keep him waiting longer than was necessary. But he couldn't bring himself to move yet, and it wasn't due to the physical pleasure of the massage.

Spock did not mind, rather he was glad to have McCoy in his hands, and far away from his double. What he found most notable about his double was his utter flippancy. However, he could understand the cause of it. Long life was not the norm in the alternate universe, and that was just one of several aspects that was tragic about it. However, he also understood that he and McCoy had most likely appeared to be as condescending to his mirror counterpart as he had been toward them. However, he and McCoy had the right. His counterpart had harmed his mate and was unrepentant. On the other hand, however, McCoy felt, as did he, that some responsibility was felt toward the citizens of the secondary universe.

But he couldn't ask for the primary universe to hand over its people, and its resources, to the secondary universe. There was already too much pain and lack of sureness here. His counterpart either did not understand that, simply did not care, or was simply that desperate. If it was the third option, then that indicated that his logic had been buckling under immense stress. At that notion, Spock lowered his lips to the top of McCoy's head, and placed a kiss upon it. That made his counterpart quite dangerous. He was glad that McCoy had not been alone when the mirrored version of himself had unceremoniously made his appearance.

McCoy placed his hand upon Spock's. "Calm down, darling."

Spock felt abashed but defended his line of thought. "It was a logical conclusion to make."

"Maybe, but it didn't happen. I'm not Andromeda, chained to the rock," he reprimanded gently, "He just happened to be there when I didn't have a phaser on me. My communicator's still in my pocket."

"Forgive me if my logic fails me when I am with you," Spock replied, his tone indicating slight annoyance, "You usually seem to like that it does."

McCoy muttered under his breath, realizing that he'd inadvertently backed himself into a corner. Spock ceased stroking his back and wrapped his arms around him from behind the chair. McCoy shut his eyes. In his nightmares, he saw Spock's double opening his eyes, and grasping his wrist in a crushing grip. He could see him yanking off his clothing. To see him again, even after years had gone by, made him desire not to leave this room.

But he didn't know…

Leonard sighed in relief. He didn't know about his and Spock's house in Georgia. He hadn't come into this office. He didn't know where Joanna and her husband lived. He didn't know about McCoy's grandchildren. He didn't know where the other former crew members of the Enterprise had scattered off to. He didn't know where Sarek had traveled to recently, or Amanda, for that matter, having gone with him. It was all right. No one would be harmed. They were beyond his notice, anyway, and he'd just stumbled upon McCoy and Spock. He couldn't insinuate himself into McCoy's life again.

And yet…

He was still disturbed by this wraith from his past. It was strange, really, but his first instinct was to protect Spock, and not fully for the more typical reasons of his profession and his marital status. Rather, it was in memory of the ordeal involving Khan's return. Kirk's phantom had reappeared and took Spock away. McCoy hadn't been willing to allow that to happen again.

And he knew that he was dodging the topic of his own pain by focusing his attention upon Spock. He was tired of dealing with old wounds, and it seemed that much of his life, his mistakes, his foibles, his decisions, and his unhappiness, had all been scar tissue. This needed to end. He wanted it to end. He had considered Jim's death a conclusive point to so much, albeit a conclusion neither he nor Spock had been ready for (and frankly, would never have been ready for), and here came this man to drag one of Kirk's affairs back into the light of day.

But then again, that's what was so funny, wasn't it? It seemed that Kirk would live on always, for better or for worse. That was despite the grief and anguish his friends felt at his loss. That was despite Kirk's frustration with his own life, after Starfleet. The universe didn't care; it was concerned more with its own affairs, grandiose as they were to the point of utterly dwarfing the concerns of its inhabitants into practical nonexistence. The rest was so much stardust.

McCoy put his head in his hands. "What have we done?"

"It was his choice whether to follow Kirk's advice. The convergence could not have been avoided at the time."

He lowered his hands to his desk with a sigh, staring at the pictures on it. There was the penultimate holophoto of the Enterprise-A's roster taken before the ship had left dock to meet with Chancellor Gorkon. McCoy had turned the photo facedown after Kirk's funeral, unable to deal with the pain of looking upon his deceased friend. There was Joanna and her husband on their wedding day. His grandchildren ran across a field. His sister Donna, her eyes shielded by the rising sun with her arm, stood upon a balcony high above Centaurus City. Most prominently, however, was a picture he had taken with Spock on their twentieth anniversary. They were upon the surface of Vulcan, standing on a cliff overlooking a dry riverbed. McCoy's fingers were curled about Spock's outheld arm, the posing appearing formal to the human eye. As for the informal, that would never see the light of day.

"It could've all been worse," he muttered, "It's not easy here, but at least we have a chance."

"Not all of us," Spock reminded him, "They must come first."

McCoy nodded solemnly. "We'll have to fill out a report about this."

"I will handle that," Spock replied, "I will need to fill my hours."

Silence passed, and McCoy commented, "This feels wrong. We can't just turn our backs on them." On a revolution led by a rapist, and supplemented, in the past, by a torturer, he noted quietly.

"We have only recently brokered peace with the Klingons. It is not a good time," Spock pointed out.

"It seems like there never will be," McCoy noted.

And more importantly, Spock did not want him to go back there. He could feel his mate's fear chilling him, and it was an utterly unpleasant sensation, more so for how rare it was. He felt self-conscious at that, knowing that Spock had seen the extent of his wounds from his counterpart's assault, all those years ago.

It didn't make any sense to go. He didn't belong there. Likely, returning there would be a good way to end up dead, despite the guilt he felt for refusing to do so. There were always new doctors and nurses to teach, relief efforts to lead, victims of slavery and war to tend to…They were all very real cases, but it felt like self-justification. However, he didn't push the point further, as Spock was practically begging him not to go.

With a relaxed breath, Spock loosened his grip upon him. Reaching out, he grasped the files. It was, in some ways, just a nightmare, albeit one that continued in another universe. He rose from the chair, and Spock stepped back from him. Framed against the light of the window, the Vulcan commented, "Leonard, consider that our captain's intentions were good, when he advised my alternate self."

McCoy nodded at that. "I'll see you outside."

XXXXXX

Starfleet personnel walked and chatted among themselves within the courtyard. Sitting down upon the bench, his one arm draped over the back of it, Leonard thought of Jim again. His hand upon his shoulder, he'd reminded his captain that he was the only James T. Kirk in the universe. It had been reassuring then, but now it was heavy, causing him to look down and take a breath. He would continue to encounter Jim's ghost, and it was about time he had gotten used to it.

Death and he had a bit of an odd waltz. McCoy had accepted that she constantly appeared, her dark coat slung over one arm to carry off another dancer from the floor, but every time she cut in, he'd felt half compelled to throw his fist in her skull face. He'd had his small victories over her, Spock chief among them, but more often, she got what she wanted. Kirk wouldn't want him to mope, even though his friend's loss had left a hole in him.

He felt the ghost of groping hands over his skin, the hairs raising on them. It would never go away, it seemed, merely reduced to a shadow on the fringe of his mind.

Footsteps padded over to him, Spock's robe whispering over the grass. McCoy dropped his arm from the back of the bench and looked up to see his husband staring down at him. His expression was stoic, but McCoy sensed his concern for him. He also felt a reflection of his grief for Jim.

Leonard sighed. "I hate to be a wet blanket, but can we just go home?"

"Of course," Spock replied, holding out a hand.

With a grateful smile, McCoy grasped it, and his husband tugged him up from the bench.

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Spiced Peaches LII.
> 
> Author's Notes: Donna McCoy is from Dreams of the Raven by Carmen Carter. Mirror McCoy dying of xenopolycythemia is referenced in The Sorrows of Empire by David Mack. Tonia Barrows pursuing a career in the scientific field, eventually leaving the Enterprise, and working with McCoy is from Crucible: McCoy by David George III.


End file.
